


The Night We Met

by dornessiti



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Braime - Freeform, F/M, First Meeting, Fluff, Jaime grows up in Dorne and doesn’t kill OR fuck anyone he shouldnt, Most of the side characters are brief, so soft, soft, very small mention of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:39:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21525340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornessiti/pseuds/dornessiti
Summary: "Don't Let them see your tears.”//What if instead of Renly Baratheon coming to the rescue all those years ago, Jaime Lannister showed instead?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 15
Kudos: 201





	The Night We Met

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lord Huron’s, “The Night We Met.” 
> 
> I took uuuuuuh a lot of liberties with the politics of Westeros here, please ignore me

The halls are bustling with activity; servants hurrying to set down their laden trays, decorators putting the final touches wherever needed, and even one or two minor lords rushing passed on their way to make last minute preparations with her father. 

Jaime Lannister will be at Tarth by nightfall. 

The Lannister heir has finally come of age, giving him claim to his rightful title of Lord Paramount of The Stormlands as King Robert had granted when Jaime was only just a babe, allowing his younger brother, Tyrion, to inherit the birthright of Lord Paramount of the Westerlands in his stead. 

Even as a Baratheon sits on the throne, it may as well be a Lannister for all of the power their family holds over Westeros. Queen Janna is not well versed in politics- House Tyrell offered the wealth and strength of Highgarden when making the betrothal, as well as a fair bride- but it’s the Hand who really rules when the King takes to drink, which is often enough that it’s a wonder King Robert is able to keep the crown from slipping right off his head. 

Tywin Lannister is cunning, with a mind meant for battle planning. It’s no wonder he was named Hand after the rebellion ended. It must be a constant sore point for the other lords on the King’s small council, to have their fates so neatly held within the hands of these Lions.

Many lords and ladies say sending Jaime away was a gift to his father, Lord Tywin, as thanks for their house aiding the Baratheons in the rebellion against the Mad King, but the smallfolk whisper that it was merely an excuse to send the boy as a ward to Dorne to keep Prince Doran Martell in line, and to put a stop to any rebellions that had been brewing. 

A highborn son with a fortune at his back made an excellent peace offering, as Prince Doran could no longer claim that Robert had turned his favor from the Dornish people as Aerys had, not with a steady stream of gold and imports being sent across Westeros all the way from Casterly Rock. 

Jaime had even been engaged to Princess Arianne for a time before they’d set that aside in favor of a marriage between Jaime’s twin sister, Cersei, and Prince Doran’s younger brother, Oberyn Martell. The two had been married just last year and already they’ve managed to produce a healthy baby boy said to be favoring his father in complexion and manner. 

And so their liege lord remains unmarried. 

He and Brienne have that in common and much else- barring the rumors of him being unfairly handsome. They’re both the oldest living child of a great house with a duty they never asked for thrust upon them before they’d even uttered their first words. Perhaps in another life that would have destined them for friendship. 

But not in this one; their rank had been decided a long time ago, and Brienne had fallen far shorter than anyone had hoped for the moment she was born without a cock between her legs to make her heir. 

She has no delusions as to exactly what kind of reaction she’s sure to receive from this golden-haired lord.

The threat of losing the contents of her stomach worsens. 

If Jaime is even half the man Lord Tywin is rumored to be, the first thing he’ll set out to do is force as much profit from her people as possible. It makes sense then, that he would tour the Stormlands. It’s been years since _anyone_ has come to inspect the banners this far South, and Brienne had actually begun to hope that he might overlook their small island in his visit altogether. 

But the Gods would not have it. 

Their value may not be that of a larger Westerosi house. They have no jewel mines, no silk trades, no winerys. But they do have ships, which are in high demand in King’s Landing, as well as marble that is used for many of the finer structures across the Seven Kingdoms.

Which is why this feast is so important. Her father has been forced to use gold they would rather spend on provisions for the lean winters to come on things like extra cooks and entertainers, as well as pay for the extra guards. He’s even had a new gown made for her, though she fought him on it for days. 

She tried to make him see reason; it’s a waste of money on something she’ll never wear again! Not only would she most likely grow out of it before the year’s end, but the mocking that comes from dressing up always seems worse when she’s actually tried. 

And tonight, she must. 

She must do her best if it means keeping her father’s hope alive that she might one day give him an heir, and there will be many suitable men in tonight’s attendance. Though so far, none of the men he’s tried to promise her to have stayed longer than an hour after meeting her. 

She tells herself it doesn’t matter, that the opinion of shallow men mean less than nothing, but it stings nonetheless. Her name day has just passed and still no offers of marriage have come, not even with the whole of Tarth as a tempting dowry. 

Brienne shakes her head and quickens her pace. Septa Roelle will be expecting her shortly if she’s going to finish getting ready in time, and anyone who’s ever had the misfortune of meeting her can tell you that the woman is not one to be kept waiting. 

\-----

The Great Hall has been transformed. 

Even watching it come together slowly over the past week has been nothing compared to seeing it once finished, with candlelight bathing everything in its honey glow. Thick, deep blue fabric covers every surface and island flowers fill the air with a sweet, familiar perfume. Tables left and right are weighed down with flaky pastries, stewed meats, bowls of thick cream, goat cheeses and fruits and endless pitchers of wine. It’s almost enough to make this whole ordeal worth it.

_Almost_ , but not quite. 

It’s extravagant to say the least, she grimaces, but everyone else seems happy enough. 

All of the most important people who could make it in time have gathered in their finery to drink and dance and await the young man who now controls the very ground they walk on; she could have laughed if the very idea wasn’t enough to set her stomach in knots. 

Should Lord Lannister decide the total sum of their island is less than what’s needed to balance out the gold in his coffers, he can pull back his family's support anytime he chooses, and no amount of local delicacies or pretty fabric can change that fact. 

But what pretty fabric it is. Brienne may have argued against a dress of her own, but now that the seamstress has finished it, she silently gives thanks. If she had shown up in her usual garb of men’s trousers and neatly tucked linen shirts, she would have received even more stares if possible. Instead, she wears a gown nearly the exact shade of blue as her eyes, edged in delicate lace starbursts and golden crescent buttons that trail under her too-small bust.

Even though the whispers may still follow, it isn’t enough to shake her of the warm, contented feeling still slowly bubbling up within her. 

As if sensing her hopeful mood, the large wooden doors are pulled open to announce the arrival of their honored guest, putting a swift end to any excitement she held and leaving only worry in its place. 

_Gods, is it time already?_ Every guard quickly stands to attention and all of the noise in the great hall dies away before she even has time to straighten up in her seat. 

Lord Selwyn Tarth rises from his chair at the head of the table, his towering figure nearly dwarfing the man who saunters so casually through the center of the room. 

_They call him the Lion of Lannister._

It’s clear why with the dark golden mane that curls just beneath his chin, framing his strong face as prettily as any storybook knight’s, paired with a smile too sharp and full of teeth to be friendly. He wears a linen suit the color of freshly spilled blood, the thin fabric favoring the Dornish climate with its material that clings to the hard lines of his body, and flows out from where a shining Valyrian sword is tucked against his waist; the very picture of the Warrior himself.

She does allow herself some small, spiteful joy in noticing that even as he had recently turned twenty, he still stands a good inch shorter than Brienne herself. 

Lord Jaime doesn’t spare a single glance towards the eager faces gathered around the room. Instead, those brilliant, sea glass eyes slide first to her father and then to Brienne, who is seated on Selwyn’s left praying to be left alone. Even when hiding her height by sitting down, there’s nothing to be done about the rest of her appearance. 

Her thin, straw-colored hair is already losing whatever curl her Septa had tried to force it into this morning, leaving unruly waves instead that just barely brush past her shoulders. 

Brienne had to be talked out of sheering it all off together, but her father insists she leave it no matter how many times she argues that it would be much easier to maintain that way.

_“It isn’t proper for a highborn lady to go around looking like a common squire. No husband would allow his wife to look such a way.”_

But what does she care about what a husband would think? It isn’t as if she has to worry about that any time soon- if ever. 

Still, it sets her cheeks ablaze to feel the scrutiny lying behind Jaime’s gaze, but nevertheless, she forces herself to sit up straight and keep her expression neutral as she meets his stare. 

Brienne may not be a lion, but she certainly won’t be cowed by one. 

Lesser men have gawked before, their wives and daughters sneering behind her back- even Septa Roelle is quick to remind her of how freakish and lumbering she is- but the look in the Lannister’s eyes is unfamiliar. It makes Brienne wonder if anyone besides her father would notice if she snuck away to hide in her room until this horrible affair is done with. 

Before she can try to excuse herself, the music begins again, and the uncomfortable moment between them passes. Lord Jaime is brought to sit on the opposite side of her father and Brienne returns to studiously ignoring any attempt at drawing her further into conversation. 

It’s going to be a very long evening. 

\-----

Magic is alive at Evenfall. 

Brienne had been afraid to dance, afraid of what others might say once plates were cleared away, and it was expected of her as Lady of the island to join in on the festivities. She had assumed that a few of her father’s old friends from the war would be kind enough to ask her to dance, maybe even one or two of their sons, and that it would be a terribly awkward experience for everyone involved. What she hadn’t expected was this;

Her father usually only allows a half-glass of wine with evening meals, but she’s been poured three already tonight, and the heat that blossoms through her is sweeter than anything she has ever known. Brienne’s movements, usually clumsy and burdened by self-doubt, feel almost graceful as she’s swept around the ballroom in the arms of half a dozen young lords. 

Perhaps Lord Serwyn was right all along and she had finally grown into her looks, or perhaps people simply stopped caring about her size; whatever the reason, no one mocks her now. No, they fight to dance with her. Boys from the nearest islands push passed one another to claim her for each song. It makes her heart race to finally know what it must be like to be wanted, to feel just as pretty as all the other far dantier ladies. Her father catches her eye from across the ballroom and smiles proudly, and she smiles back, her heart overflowing with joy. 

And then it all ends. 

She could curse herself a thousand times over for being such a fool. All it takes is one glance at the group of boys huddled in the corner sniggering for her to realize what had happened. 

_They want to know who can pretend the longest._

She stumbles away from her current dance partner, nearly tripping in her hast to get away. The confused lord turns and spies his friends, joining in on their laughter once he realizes the game is over. A few witnesses give her all-too familiar pitying looks as they take in the scene, and it only serves to worsen the pain, though a voice in the back of her mind reminds her that she should have known better all along. 

Unshed tears blur her vision and she’s sucking in short, gasping breaths- as weak and mewling as a newborn kitten- by the time she gathers her barings well enough to try and escape.

Brienne only manages a single step back when her exit is cut short by a pair of strong, warm arms wrapping around her waist. 

"Don't Let them see your tears.” Jaime Lannister’s voice is low, the words whispered against her hair, but his hold is firm, and she uses it to steady herself before turning to look at him directly. “They are nasty little shits and nasty little shits aren't worth crying over." 

Where those green eyes had been sharp before, there’s something almost soft about them now, despite the tightly clenched line of his jaw. _Gods, he really is pretty._

He frees a hand to swipe a thumb over her cheek, almost as if daring any tears to try and escape. They won’t. Her hurt was slipping away as swiftly as the memory of a dream. 

They finish the rest of the dance together, though he refuses to let her far enough from his arms for either to truly take part in it. He never once complains when she stumbles on a step or when her hands get embarrassingly sweaty, not even to comment on their difference in height as she must duck in order to pass beneath their raised hands. 

As the final few notes melt into the air, he steps away, and Brienne is almost convinced she sees a flash of reluctants on his face as he bows his head politely. “If you would excuse me, my Lady, I’m afraid I have some urgent business to attend to.” 

“O-Of course, my lord. I would hate to think I’ve kept you too long.” She manages an awkward curtsy in return and silently curses herself for it. 

“Trust me, my Lady, when I say I’d much rather be keeping your company.” Jaime winks, causing the uneven blush to return once more to her cheeks. “This will only take a moment, if you’d be so kind as to save me another dance?” 

“You wish to have a second?” Brienne asks slowly. 

He laughs, though not unkindly, and flashes her a mischievous grin. “The second, and another after if your father wouldn’t mind me stealing you away too terribly.” 

“I dare say he’d be overjoyed, but you don’t- you don’t have to, you know? There are other ladies-”

“There are none here that I wish to dance with more than you.” He insists firmly. “A second dance?”

“...You shall have it, my Lord.” Brienne quietly agrees with a nod of her head. 

“Jaime. Call me Jaime. And...I look forward to it.” With a quick brush of lips to the back of her hand, he turns and makes a straight line across the room to where the young men from before are still huddled together. 

_Oh no._

Brienne has a sudden guess as to what business he may have with them. “Wait!” 

Her unladylike shout garners interest from other guests, but the Lannister’s steps never falter. She hurries after him, panic causing her heart to pound painfully in her chest, but it’s too late. Brienne comes to a halt behind him just as the entire room falls silent to hear.

“M-My lord!” One of the boys quickly bows. 

“You wear a sigil of griffins- red and white- House Connington, if I remember correctly?” His voice is deceptively calm. 

“Y-Yes, my lord! ‘M Ron Connington, son of Ser Ronald.” Ron was one of the last boys to dance with her, an ugly boy who’d worn an even uglier sneer as he had laughed at her. 

“Ah- That’s right. Your father is the Knight of Griffin’s Roost, isn’t he? I always seem to be getting the lower houses confused. And what a small house it is. It would be a shame to see it get any smaller.” Jaime turns to another before he has the chance to reply. “And you without colors, a Storm bastard, I presume?”

The boy doesn’t even reply, his face having gone the color of off-milk. 

Jaime flashes them all another unfriendly smile. “I believe Lady Brienne has been more than generous with her hospitality.” 

One of the knights among them makes the mistake of stepping forward. “But my lord, it’s only Brienne the Beauty-” 

The sound of Jaime Lannister’s hand cracking against his mouth cuts through the quiet of the room. “You are speaking of a highborn lady, ser. You will call her by her name, or you will not speak at all.”

Brienne reaches out for him then, _propriety be damned,_ and jerks Jaime back by the elbow just as her father pushes his way through the crowd to reach them. 

Lord Selwyn Tarth is raised to his full height now as he stands above the sniveling boy, and as red in the face as she’s ever seen him. “Ser Duncan Wylde, you insult my daughter and our guest in my own hall. I think it best you leave, _now,_ before you find yourself stripped of a title.”

The young knight spits blood on the floor and makes to exit, joined by the remaining handful of lads involved in the game. 

“Hold there.” Jaime calls out to stop them before they reach the doors. “Before you leave, you will each apologize to the lady. After all...you did make a mess.” He gestures to the blood splattered across the polished marble floors. 

Outraged silence greets him for a long, drawn out moment until one-by-one they kneel before her, each one unable to meet her eyes as they mutter their apologizes and hurry from the room. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Brienne says as the other guests studiously pretend not to listen and the music strikes up once more. 

“I’m sure you could have taken them on yourself, my lady.” He smirks playfully. 

“I could have, yes.” She agrees with a small, stiff smile before shaking her head. “But I’m familiar with their behavior, I shouldn’t have let it bother me so.” 

Jaime opens his mouth to protest but decides against it, frustration holding his tongue. Instead, he sighs and raises a hand to tuck away a single, wavy lock that had escaped from one of her many pins. 

The gentleness of it all is almost too much for Brienne to bear. The touch seems to surprise him as well, judging by the suddenly nervous look on his face. He clears his throat and takes a small step away, though still far too close to be considered polite, which she’s beginning to suspect he’s done on purpose. 

“Now about that second dance?”


End file.
